


Night by the Euphrates

by NyxEclipse



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Feels, Kissing, M/M, Pondering about feelings, no fear seasickness, sex with feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 08:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14233278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEclipse/pseuds/NyxEclipse
Summary: Sometimes, all he wants to do is to forget and leave everything behind. What better distraction is there than his loyal servant who is always so eager to please?Takes place afterWake.





	Night by the Euphrates

**Author's Note:**

> If you like historical accuracy, you might cry from the made up stuff in this story. Whelp. I call in artistic licence as my defence.  
> Also, I salute all those people who write smut so easily. I feel like I traded up a few years of my lifespan just to get this thing to be halfway decent...at least I hope its halfway decent.

The river Euphrates is an incredibly important river to the city of Uruk, as are most rivers, considering the significance of water to human survival. This is probably one of the greatest reasons why so many civilizations sprung up next to rivers; they are a natural source of the life-giving liquid that is essential to the continued existence of mankind.

The sky is a dark midnight blue with countless stars dotting its wide expanse. A perfect crescent moon lies lowly in the distance—its unearthly white glow illuminating the earth in ghostly, white light. From his distant position, he can see the entirety of the huge royal palace. Multiple lights at various locations glow in the darkness as the servants go about their chores despite the time of the day. It must surely be past midnight by now, but Gilgamesh could care less.

He reclines on an oaken boat—a rather small, luminously furnished vessel—fit for around five people to relax comfortably. Red silken sheets and feather cushions are sprawled around haphazardly on the designated seats meant for relaxation. At present, only two people occupy the boat: his servant and himself. The golden-haired king lies on the silk with a few cushions propping him up while his servant sits opposite him. In comparison to the King who seems to be rather at ease, the white-haired Magus looks quite tense with his stiff sitting posture.

Scattered across the dark surface of the river are hundreds of candles kept afloat through planks of assorted wood. Accompanying the tiny floats are various small trinkets: they range from pieces of jewellery, tablets with writings on them, to even locks of hair. Together, all the floating candles make quite the sight. They mirror the scene in the night sky; the many small lights illuminate their dark, watery background. To the casual observer, this would be a breath-taking sight that few could ever hope to behold.

But, despite being faced with the beauty of such a scene, there is no way the Wise King can smile—for each and every candle represented a person. People who were once well and whole—now gone—with many not even having corpses to show. The various trinkets were either something of significance to the deceased or represented them in some manner. If that person had no family to do the deed of floating the candle, the blonde had personally set one afloat for them with a single olive flower accompanying it.

The boat barely rocks due to a lack of currents; it merely floats aimlessly across the wide expanse of water. Using his magic, he steers the boat away from the candles and opts to observe them from a respectable distance. On a whim, he leans slightly over the boat to dip his hand into the water. The river is cool to the touch and his small disturbance sends ripples dancing across the once smooth surface of the darkened water. They clash with the existing ones created by the boat and mix together to form a disharmonious mess—much like the inner turmoil he currently houses within himself.

A beautiful river of death; a display to mourn the passing of many great souls.

It is a sad reality that all the people of Uruk have to face every day.

The Wise King of Uruk feels his already bad mood plummet further.

“It’s really late.”

Of course, when he is at his lowest, that man would always be there.

Merlin tries to hold his other hand in a gesture of comfort perhaps, but Gilgamesh quickly pulls away. He is not one for this kind of sentimental gestures and he would never be—he reckons. They were on this boat for a reason; Merlin had justified it being a well-deserved break from all the hectic affairs as of late and Siduri had been quick to agree. The blonde did not exactly agree with them, but he appreciated the change of scenery for once at least. Although, he has no idea how the two of them had expected him to relax. Just the sight of the many floating candles is enough to ruin any semblance of a happy mood he manages to muster up. In the end, he treats it as a part of his duty as king to his people—to send off the souls of the departed.

“Should we go back? The day has been hard on all of us…we should all get some rest.”

The boat rocks a little as the Magus of Flowers shifts anxiously at his lack of response.

Honestly, Gilgamesh does not feel like answering, nor does he care enough to. He is tired—exhausted even—in a way that rest will not help. This is a burden he had resolved to shoulder the moment he stepped up to be king; it is something he had made peace with long ago. He knew what he was walking into and there is little regret to be felt from his actions.

Then it hits him how all this struggling would be pointless eventually. Sure, the big picture was that humanity would be restored back to its rightful path of existence, but Uruk would die with him for that to occur. What was a mere city in the face of the continued survival of humanity?

Practically nothing.

It does not help that the alternative is so much worse.  

Perhaps his depressing thoughts had affected him more than he anticipated, or stress had finally gotten to him. He can still hear the cries and wails of his people who were suffering or dying ringing in his ears. Either way, he wants to do nothing but forget for a moment—to forget the cruel reality he is living in, to forget that while he was revered as two thirds god, he is still very much human in many ways, to forget that he is a king with responsibilities and duties.

Surely his servant—his faithful, beloved servant—would grant that to him.

“Make love to me.”

Merlin stiffens.

Inwardly, the king scoffs at his own words.

_Make love_? It is a silly notion that he had never entertained before. Just that right now, he is feeling mellow enough to consider allowing such a thing to transpire. He is the proud King of Uruk—a fabulous city of unrivalled beauty and strength. He did not make love to anyone, let alone anyone to him. And yet…

He pulls his hand out of the water. Watching the small droplets of water slide down his fingers, he takes his eyes off his wet hand for a moment to observe the reaction of the other. Merlin’s face is a mess of emotions. He cycles through a variety of them: confusion, elation—disbelief.

“Gil, are you sure?”

The Magus of Flowers eventually settles on an expression of pensive worry, although why he chose that one in particular eludes him. Was this not what he had been longing for since the beginning?

“How long are you going to make me wait for, _Magus_?”

He drags out the last word, irritation beginning to fill him. His servant gulps audibly and gets up from his seat. Merlin’s hands are shaking, he notes. Is it due to excitement or something else? Either way, it matters not to him.

“If you insist.”

With a worshipful gaze, the white-haired male sits next to him. Starting off slowly probably due to a mixture of shock and uncertainty, he begins with stroking the blonde’s sides with strong firm fingers. The sensation is rather ticklish and the blonde squirms uncomfortably. Already, he is regretting his decision, although pride is making him hesitate at retracting his order. Before he can come to a decision on what to do next, the white-haired magus pulls him close into a chaste kiss that quickly turns into something more sensual.

Their kiss becomes heated and messy; it heats his body up which has been feeling rather cold due to the cool night breeze. While the king is rather half-hearted in his efforts, the magus more than makes up for it in his enthusiasm. The way his arm circles around his waist to bring them closer, the way he uses a hand to cup the back of the blonde’s head gently, the way he sighs softly into their joined lips—it all speaks of unmistakable tender love.

Gilgamesh feels oddly disappointed when Merlin breaks the kiss to remove his cloak. The Magus shrugs the white material off himself where it pools into a puddle of fabric beneath his feet. Gilgamesh rests his arms on one of the many pillows surrounding him and takes notice of many things he has never realised about his servant before. He takes in the slightly pointed ears and the way his hair fades to purple at the very edges; his smiles always look warm and inviting while his hands—

“—Gil? My king? You’re staring.”

Blinking in surprise, the blonde hastily adverts his gaze.

For some reason, he does not know what to do or focus on. It suddenly dawns on him what he has asked for—not fucking, not casual sex, not tumbling around in the hay, but _making love._ He has had countless experiences with the former three but the last?

Fingers playing absentmindedly with the fabric that lines his seat, he finds his heart beating quite rapidly.

He is not nervous. How could be? There was absolutely no reason for him to be nervous. Surely, there would be no great difference from all his other experiences.

His mind snaps back to the present as warm palms slide down his body. Merlin’s mouth is warm and wet on his body and seemingly everywhere at once. His fingers are searching—reaching to find every single sport that makes him feel good. Gilgamesh is trying to keep a stoic appearance but finds that quickly falling apart. The other moves with a fevered sense of urgency—his movements hungry yet restrained. His tongue flicks over a hardened nipple, while a hand reaches out to play with the other. Every touch feels like fire dancing on oversensitive skin. The blonde shivers under the sensations; they are quickly heating up his skin and transforming into something other than ticklish touches.

A soft sigh—the kneading motions of his flesh is doing wonders to help him relax. Their bodies are pressed flush against each other—warmth seeping through the thin fabric of their clothes. Merlin is looking at him with a smothering gaze of pure longing and the King feels something stir within him at that gaze. Before he knows it, he is bringing their lips together for another heated kiss. Tilting his head at an angle to get better access to the other’s mouth, he indulges in the sensations that the kiss invokes.

The kiss is perfect in all the ways he never knew a kiss could be.

Parting his lips to allow the other entry, he allows his mouth to be ravaged. The sensation is overwhelming; the world is spinning is a mess of dizzying confusion. He tastes honey—sweet and fresh—on his tongue. The light scent of flowers fills his nose.

Eventually, they still have to part for air. The blonde realises he is panting for breath; a burning desire of want and need has been steadily building up in him all this time. Now that he finally has the mind to acknowledge it, he finds that it shows itself quite plainly through his flushed body and the way all his blood rushes south—his loose pants doing nothing to hide it. The Magus of Flowers has clearly noticed this change as well and shows it through his increased teasing.

Everywhere he touches burns; he huffs as hands bush a particular spot along his spine that causes his toes to curl in pleasure. Just as he thought he would drown in the sensations, they stop. Cracking open his eyes which he had closed at some point, he spots his servant removing the rest of his clothes, leaving only his black undershirt on.

When his servant finally turns back to attend to him, Gilgamesh allows the other to remove his belt and pants, his expectant gaze watching as deft fingers peel off the blue wrappings around his loins. Once he is suitably undressed, he is laid down on his back. He starts to lift himself on unsteady arms to flip himself over but is quickly stopped.

“Please,” Merlin sounds embarrassed as he says his next line, “I want to see your face.”

Gilgamesh raises a questioning eyebrow at his reasoning but relents. He never could understand the appeal of seeing a partner’s face during intercourse. Even if it did end up with them coming face to face, their expressions just never struck him as something exceptional or arousing. It mostly just ended up with him chasing his own pleasure and focusing solely on that. Although—he concurs—each to their own. He would allow this small privilege to his servant who has more than earned it.

Seeing that Gilgamesh is now staying put, Merlin produces an ornate vial of oil with his magic. Pouring out a generous amount of the slick liquid onto his hands, the white-haired magus warms it with his fingers before touching him tentatively. The blonde gives the other a slight nod of encouragement—no words were needed by this point.

When he finally feels a soft caress on his inner thighs, he trembles with barely controlled need. Clearly, he wants this. Or at the very least, his body wants this; he could figure out the finer details later. Was this not what he wanted anyway, to drown in the pleasures of the flesh to escape from harsh reality if even for a moment? The Magus of Flowers is—at the very least—proving to be a terribly effective distraction.

Then those slippery fingers are pressing into him—stretching him. There is discomfort initially and even some pain, but he eventually becomes accustomed to the stretch. More fingers are added, and Merlin makes a scissoring motion before reaching deeper, twisting and turning, as if searching for something—

—there is a bright spark of pleasure so abrupt in its arrival that his back arches right off the boat.

Wordlessly, Merlin withdraws his fingers. He pours out more of the oil and spreads it thoroughly over himself. Once he has deemed himself ready, the Magus lines himself at the blonde’s entrance and hesitates. Just as Gilgamesh is worried that the other might back out for some strange reason after coming this far, he is—thankfully—proven wrong.

And then the Magus is inside him. A burst of pain breaks through the once hazy pleasure, causing his face to twist in pain. His discomfort is immediately noticed.

“Shit. Was I too eager? I’m so sorry Gil, I’ll—”

“—insufferable Magus,” he cuts off his annoying servant with thinly veiled pain in his voice, “Just move already.”

Merlin looks upset enough to stop altogether. With a sigh, the King takes it upon himself to continue the deed. He wraps his slender legs around the other in an attempt to pull him closer. It works partially, but mostly just serves to mess up the other’s already unruly hair.

Finally—with some kicks and grinding of hips later—Merlin decides to move. His initial movements are pathetically timid which barely generates any sort of friction. Frustrated, he tugs on the other’s long hair to indicate his displeasure. Luckily, the Magus gets the message and remedies the issue by making bigger thrusts.

The boat rocks slightly in time to their vigorous activity. Gilgamesh gasps as the pain he felt at first is steadily being replaced by something much more pleasurable, although he is still tethering precariously on the edge between pain and euphoria. Then his servant hits a certain spot in him and intense pleasure assaults him in relentless waves. It is so all-encompassing that he fists his hands into the silk as if to hang on to something—anything, lest he be swept away by the pleasure.

His mind is floating. The pleasure—everything he is feeling—it is all so overwhelming. Eyelids fluttering, his voice escapes him in the form of keening whines. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he registers that Merlin should be close now judging by the way he thrusts erratically.

“G-Gil!”

He feels it; a surge of liquid heat fills him. The sensation is not quite like anything else in the way it burns him with its scalding warmth. Through his lust hazed vision, he makes out Merlin’s sweat covered face. His eyes are scrunched up in pleasure, brows furrowed and lips slightly parted—it is a remarkable sight.

Maybe he can begin to understand Merlin’s fascination with seeing his face. He is starting to find the other’s rather pleasant to view too.

Eventually, the Magus has to pull out. As he does so, sticky white drips out of him and flows down his thigh. Gilgamesh feels the liquid drip to pool on the material beneath him and clicks his tongue in distaste; the silk would have to be cleaned after this.

“You didn’t come.”

The Wise King stares into the face of his companion that is looming just over his own. After reaching his climax, Merlin had simply slumped over bonelessly, effectively pinning him to the boat with his spent body. In the midst of their lovemaking, the press of their sweaty bodies might have been sensual—arousing even. Now? The other’s body is like a dead weight; the press is becoming increasingly heavy and uncomfortable as the seconds tick by.

“Get off me mongrel,” he demands in a warning manner. The pleasant mood from their coupling is quickly fading.

“But Gil—”

Having decided that he has indulged enough in the whims of the other, the blonde—in one swift move—pushes the heavy lump off him to the side. Considering that they are in a boat, the white-haired magus ends up falling gracelessly into the river. He makes a rather loud entrance but quickly surfaces, gasping and spluttering. He imagines it must be quite the rude shock for anyone to be suddenly dumped into the icy cold river.

The Magus of Flowers looks very much like a drenched, kicked puppy—that with his once fluffy white hair sticking flatly to his sides and a very indignant look on his face. His eyes hold much hurt and shock in them as they stare straight up at him.

“Pftt—Hahaha!”

The sight has him quirking a small smile that quickly transforms into full-blown laughter as the Magus’ face becomes more and more flabbergasted. How long has it been since he last laughed like this? It feels good—he decides—to let loose once in a while.

By the time he recovers from his bout of laughter, his servant is looking at him as though he is currently viewing the most fascinating object in the universe. He might have felt flattered if not for the oddity of the situation.

“You laughed.”

Merlin’s expression is a perfect depiction of innocent wonder.

“I’ve never seen you laugh in such an unrestrained manner before.”

That puts a thoughtful look on his face. Sure, he has laughed many times at the expanse at others or due to amusement, but it has never been due to something quite as genuinely simple as this. Perhaps he had before during his youth. Alas, those memories have long faded and gone—the majority of them being eroded away by the passage of time.

Or maybe he had with his beloved friend, but that was a can of worms he would rather not think about at the moment.

In a surprisingly charitable gesture, he holds out a hand to the Magus of Flowers who is still floating in the river. His servant takes his hand, beaming like an idiot the whole time. Really, he could never hope to fathom how that brain of his works. Gilgamesh pulls—and with much effort and clumsy scrambling later—his servant eventually manages to heave himself back onto the boat. He still looks rather wretched with the way he drips water all over the boat and shivers in the cold night air. However, the blonde is not worried in the slightest. The Magus could probably use his magic to dry himself off or something. Maybe he should get him to clean the boat too while he was at it?

The idea seems more appealing by the moment. Before he can voice he thoughts though, he finds his servant looming over him once more. What now? Was he so virile that he was itching for another round?

“You didn’t come, Gil.”

True, but he doesn’t really feel the need to do so anymore. His drive had long since waned and he thought the cold water would have shocked the other into forgetting.

“The mood has long been ruined by your ineptitude, Magus. There is no reason to continue.”

Gilgamesh begins to steer the boat in a different direction to avoid drifting too far away from the candles but finds his magic being interfered with.

“No.”

“No?”

He blinks.

This is…new. His servant had never opposed him so vehemently before.  Unconsciously, his mind forms a new opinion on the white-haired Magus.

“It wouldn’t be fair.”

The Magus of Flowers brushes a hand over his length, causing the blonde to shiver. The lull in stimulation had caused it to soften, but he feels a familiar twinge of heat pooling in his gut at the brief contact. In a great display of magic, Merlin forces the water off himself. They manifest as countless little droplets that float around him in clusters before being deposited back into the river. The sight is mesmerising; it puts him considerably more agreeable mood.

“Well mongrel, entertain me then.”

He offers the statement in a rather challenging tone. Honestly, he is rather curious to see what his servant would do. Although, he really is giving his servant so much leeway in his whims today.

Merlin takes the King’s words in stride and proceeds to kneel between his legs. He grips Gilgamesh’s length in a firm yet not in an overly harsh manner and starts with slow and steady strokes, sometimes adding a swirl of his tongue for a change. The once forgotten vial of oil is emptied of its contents and applied all over his throbbing heat; it just adds to the already stifling heat that has been rising all this while. 

A mewl of pleasure escapes his mouth as Merlin flicks his fingers over the tip of his erection. The Magus is calculative in all his actions—every slide of his tongue or bush of his fingers is done in a meticulous manner aimed at bringing the most amount of pleasure. He is leaking now; it mixes with the oil to produce a squelching sound with every motion of Merlin’s palm.

Gilgamesh pants raggedly as though he just ran a marathon, with drool leaking out of his mouth. He is almost there; he can feel it in the way his heart is hammering in his chest and fiery heat pools in his gut. Like a spring coiled—poised—way too tight, he feels ready to burst at any moment. His hips have been unconsciously gravitating towards the source of contact for more friction and he finds the lack of control oddly gratifying; it had only been the giving up of control that proved to be difficult.

For once he would not have to be the one in charge. He could leave it all to someone he—yes—trusted.

Then he finds himself being shifted onto Merlin’s lap where fingers enter him once again and feel around. He jolts at the unexpected intrusion, but at least it does not hurt like it once did. Instead—where Merlin’s probing was experimental and hesitant before—they now move with practised, purposeful ease and find their destination soon enough. They press down hard on the same particular spot that makes him see stars.

It is too much.

He comes undone, shuddering through his release. Toes curled, back hunched such that he presses into his white-haired servant—his eyes clench shut as sheer, blinding pleasure overtakes his vision. The coil that had been curled so tightly is finally released and he lets go, allowing himself to fall past logic and reason. Maybe he would fall forever, deep down into a dark abyss of nothingness, but a steady presence anchors him here to the present; he is vaguely aware of the hands that stroke him through his climax and grip him possessively.

And he is glad for it. His hands grasp desperately at white strands as he wraps his arms around broad shoulders—limbs trembling and shaking all the while.

Once he comes down from his high, he realises he is practically clinging to the other with his face buried into his neck. Flustered at this blatant display of weakness, he tries to untangle himself. However, his limbs feel very much like wobbly jelly and are uncooperative in trying to perform the maneuver.  Instead, it is his servant that shifts him back to his seat—a warm, knowing smile painted across his face the whole time. The sight has his pride flaring up in annoyance, but it quickly fades given the lingering pleasure that pacifies him.

The moment he is laid back down comfortably on some cushions, Gilgamesh is treated to the sight of his servant scooping up the mess on his stomach. Merlin brings it to his mouth and licks his fingers clean as if savouring the taste. The act is hardly necessary considering they can both clean it up easily enough and Merlin is not in any dire need of mana. As such, he stares perplexed as the Magus appears to be going for another scoop.

Before he can lift it to his mouth again, Gilgamesh grips his wrist and pulls his hand to his own mouth for a taste out of pure curiosity.

“…bitter.”

How on earth does Merlin eat it like it is the most delicious thing in the world?

“Well mongrel, what are you waiting for? Clean up the mess.”

There are some things in this world that are better off not knowing. Perhaps, this is simply just one of them.

The Magus of Flowers is staring at him with a dumbfounded expression. He looks back and forth dazedly between two things in slow, uncomprehending movements: his master and his own hand that has just been licked by said master. Then a strange expression crosses his face before it is replaced by one of unrestrained excitement.

“Gil~”

Dodging the energetic servant that attempts to tackle him into a hug, the blonde searches in vain for his discarded clothes. Where had the damned Magus thrown them? He must have turned over every pillow and sheet by now only to come up with absolutely nothing. Unless…

Gilgamesh looks around the wide river surface and finds—much to his dismay—that his pants and hat are both floating merrily away…at least his belt and gauntlet are still sitting beside him and he is still wearing his vest. Not to mention his shoes that must surely be swimming with the fishes by now.

“…Merlin.”

“Ahahaha…I mean you did toss me into the water—Wait, Gil! I’m sorr—”

The peaceful night scenery is once more interrupted by an exceptionally loud splash.

-/-/-

It is the wee hours of the morning by now.

Hundreds of burned out candles fixed to wooden planks float along the river Euphrates. A long distance away from them is a small oaken vessel on which rests two figures. One is wearing a mere black undershirt and pants despite the cold wind. A petulant pout fills his face as he sneaks occasional glances at his blonde companion. Said blonde is mostly bare save for a gold and blue collared vest and a long, petal rimmed cloak that is keeping him modest. While the sensibility of such attires in a weather as cold as this is debatable, it does not appear the bother the two much.

Gilgamesh stares sombrely at the extinguished candles. Now that they had all burnt out, there is really no reason left to linger around. The dead would stay dead he supposes. The most he could do was to mourn their deaths and continue on with life.

As far as entertainment went, today was not a terribly bad experience—that he could say with utmost certainty. It had been, in fact, remarkably enjoyable, although it leaves him with the oddest feeling—a feeling he is not quite ready to come to terms with yet.

Their small boat continues to drift along the Euphrates undisturbed.

It would do them both good to sleep now given the time. Tomorrow would be a new day full of new challenges and problems to tackle. If they were to complete their duties to a satisfactory degree, sleep would be a very much needed thing. With those thoughts in mind, he gently sets the boat on course towards the river shore.

Sometime along the way, a cautious hand timidly touches his and curls around his fingers.

This time, he does not pull away.

 

-Fin-

**Author's Note:**

> So, I flipped a coin and it told me to write a sad ending...  
> Um.  
> I guess my next work in this universe shall be something sad.  
> :/
> 
>  
> 
> ~~[I'm sorry for turning your Valatines Days CE into something so tragic Gil.](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/fategrandorder/images/e/ea/499.png/revision/latest?cb=20180318070847) ~~


End file.
